


The French Kissing One

by StHoltzmann



Series: Kink is in the Mind of the Beholder (Kinktober 2018) [4]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, Feels, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Kinktober, Light Angst, Pining, Spanking, Yatesbert - Freeform, my apologies to Kierkegaard, reference to Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 18:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16269884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StHoltzmann/pseuds/StHoltzmann
Summary: Hey, it's Erin's birthday! Firehouse sleepover! Movies, pajamas, staying up late and reminiscing about sleepover shenanigans from Erin and Abby's adolescence. Good clean fun, no surprises, right? Well...Abby's been trying to leave certain things behind her for years, but sometimes, it's good to reexamine the past.(This fic is sexy but not explicit; if the heat level were much higher I would have gone with an E-rating just to be on the safe side. Also, all the "action" happens in the present day, when Erin and Abby are adults.)Kinktober day 4 prompt: Spanking





	The French Kissing One

**Author's Note:**

> “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”  
> ― Søren Kierkegaard

Despite the ample empirical evidence, Abby couldn’t really believe that for the first time in years, she and Erin were celebrating Erin’s birthday together. With a traditional sleepover, even, like they’d had when they were awkward adolescents. This one had been Erin’s shy idea, which was then endorsed enthusiastically by Holtz (who said, pretty believably, that she’d never been to a sleepover) and warmly supported by Patty’s general amusement at the whole thing.

They’d all brought their PJs to the firehouse and changed into them: Erin in a strangely cute flannel nightshirt, Holtz in loose striped cotton pants and a totally mismatched cartoon dino top, Patty in royal blue silk pajamas, Abby in a two-piece set that Patty said could’ve been worn by Cary Grant in an old movie, if not for the moose shapes printed on them. Well, she’d called them _hipster_ moose, but honestly, Abby just liked the critters—and the pajamas had been on sale, and they buttoned up to her neck, so.

Then they’d had macaroni and cheese, carrot cake (Erin’s favorite), pistachio ice cream (also Erin’s favorite), popcorn, Pixy Stix, and hot cocoa. And they’d watched several movies, ones that had come out after Abby and Erin had quit speaking to each other, which they would have gone to see at a theater matinee together if things had been different, and maybe Abby would’ve convinced Erin to sneak into another theater to catch a second or third one...

In fact, a movie was still playing on the TV. Abby had completely lost track of what it was about, but Erin was probably still watching. Some kind of historical drama, with epic ballgowns and weighty matters. She liked those.

Even though it was still a few hours to daybreak, Holtz and Patty had thrown in the towel already. Well, more like Holtz had been unable to resist the call of her lab, and Patty had mumbled something about a book she was dying to finish, and about the two of them needing “bonding time.” Abby wasn’t sure what that meant, but sure, OK. So now Abby and Erin were alone.

Anyway, Abby was warm and cozy now, covered in half of the blanket that also covered Erin. It was a nice feeling. She sighed and smiled to herself.

“Abby. Abby. _Abby_. You can’t fall asleep,” Erin said. She nudged Abby in the ribs.

“Ow! Jesus, Erin. I’m not asleep, just chilling.” Abby snorted. “I’m no Erin-Abby sleepover amateur, unlike _some_ colleagues I could name.”

Erin giggled at her. A real giggle, not a self-conscious one. She was still loosening up around the others, but alone with Abby, she was pretty far down the road to being herself again.

“Do you remember the blue hair sleepover? Or the power outage one? Or—oh, Abs, do you remember the whiskey one?”

Abby groaned. “Oh, god. I think I still have a headache. We were such idiots.” That was the sleepover when Erin had a burst of well-deserved rebellion against her parents and they’d gotten into her dad’s liquor cabinet. There was a bottle of whiskey in a gift box that he’d never opened. Waiting for the proper occasion, probably; Abby would bet he still hadn’t noticed that it was empty. If he did, served him right, though.

“We didn’t drink that much of it before I spilled it in the bathtub,” Erin said.

“Yeah, but it was _enough_. Honestly, I still can’t drink whiskey.”

“I’ve…I’ve had a lot of it in the last few years.”

Abby shuffled around on the sofa until she was facing Erin. She nudged Erin’s foot with hers. “Yeah?” She was trying to take Patty’s advice and cultivate the art of listening. It didn’t come naturally.

“Well. Yeah. Phil thought it was sophisticated. So…”

Abby made a face but tried to continue being a good listener. “What…uh…what did you think of it?”

“I fucking hated it,” Erin said fiercely.

Abby grinned. She loved it when that side of Erin came out. “Well, you don’t ever gotta have it again.”

“Amen to that.” Erin grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV. Then she sat back and leaned toward Abby, who shuffled around again till Erin could rest her head in her lap.

“We got up to some shit back then, huh?” Abby said. She plucked at Erin’s hair, absently starting to braid it. It felt as soft as it ever had.

“You mean _you_ got up to some shit, and dragged me into it,” Erin said. Abby stilled, but Erin grinned up at her. “Even when I was scared to death I loved it. But my dad was right about one thing: you _are_ a bad influence.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Abby tugged at the braid she’d made, ever so lightly. “ _You_ were the one who instigated the french kissing one though. Remember? You found an article in some terrible magazine your mom got you, _Cosmo_ or whatever, and you thought they were making up the physiological stuff. That it was just some ridiculous cultural ritual that nobody would actually do just for fun.”

“…oh my _god_ , I’d completely forgotten about that one.”

“To be fair, it was also the beer one, so—”

Erin laughed. “It was only one beer, Abs. Half of one, really, because I thought it tasted terrible, remember? And we were old enough to be legal drinking age in most of the world anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember. I was just giving you an out,” Abby said, “in case you didn’t want to remember.” And because she sure as hell hadn’t meant to bring it up, even though it had been on her mind all night.

Erin shook her head, smiling faintly. “Beer’s been growing on me lately. Phil said it was uncouth for a lady to drink beer in public, so...”

“Someday I’m gonna quit learning things about that guy that make me want to go punch him in the teeth, but y’know what? Today is not that day.”

“Ugh. And maybe someday I’ll run out of garbage to remember about him. French kissing though…still not a fan.”

“I…uh…I seem to remember that you liked it at the time. Didn’t we conclude that it was, in fact, stimulating? Just biochemistry at work.” _Christ, Abby, just shut up_.

Erin turned red. “Yeah, well, ummm…I didn’t have good luck replicating the results.”

Abby raised her eyebrows and started another braid.

“I don’t know, maybe it was just the guys I was dating, but it was usually just gross, and Phil…Phil didn’t like opening his mouth when we kissed.”

“Butthead.”

“Me, or him?”

“Them, any of them. All of them. Buttheads.”

Erin took the braid out of Abby’s hand and played with it, not meeting her eyes. “Yeah, Phil, Mr. Open Mouth Kissing Is Puerile—you know what he wanted to try? He wanted to try _spanking_.”

“Christ. Don’t make me picture this,” Abby said. “I mean, it’s not the concept—whatever boosts your goose, right?—it’s just…him. Dudes in general, too, but especially _that_ one.”

“I honestly don’t know which he wanted, to be the spanker or the … uh, the spankee. Either way, I managed to get out of it. I mean, speaking of things that I’m extremely skeptical about, physiologically speaking! Right? That’s certainly not going to feel good.”

“That is _extremely_ non-scientific of you, young lady,” Abby said, shaking a finger down at her, before realizing she’d just taken some bait that she probably shouldn’t have, and that Erin probably wasn’t even offering.

“You can’t tell me you think it has any merit,” Erin said. She sat up and ate a stray piece of popcorn off of the coffee table, and Abby gave her a look. But she plunged on, apparently fueled by her reckless food-unsafe-surface toasted maize consumption. “ _You_ haven’t been gathering data on it, right?”

Abby folded the blanket over and got up. She went over to the water dispenser and filled a glass. It was true, she hadn’t dated anyone, not really. She’d planned to ask someone out once, gotten together her usually easy-to-find but suddenly scarce courage and planned it for the evening of a day when they should’ve both been riding high. When they should have both come off of their first-ever TV appearance, even if it wasn’t much, with the book they’d made together, and bright futures ahead. When…

“No,” she said, after she’d drunk the glass and felt steadier. She came back to the sofa. “I haven’t.”

“You’ve had much cooler stuff to do. But, you know what? I dare you to find out.”

Inside, Abby’s stomach wobbled. A cluster of sirens went off in the distance, and it took her a moment to realize that they weren’t coming from inside her brain.

She sat on the sofa very carefully. “What? Like, go date some butthead? There isn’t enough grant money in the goddamn _world_ —”

“No, come on, let’s just run the experiment! Like you always want to do. I double-dare you.”

“What are we, twelve?” Abby’s exasperation definitely showed in her voice, and why not let it—it was real, even if maybe for different reasons than Erin would expect.

Erin smiled primly. “I’m a grown-up, you’re a grown-up,” she said. “Actually, I’m a grown-up who _double-dog-dares you_!”

“Jeez,” said Abby, followed quickly by “What the hell!” because Erin had just crawled across Abby’s lap. She rested on her elbows and gave Abby a challenging grin.

“Put up or shut up,” Erin said. Abby could feel her warmth through the pajamas they were wearing. Erin’s breasts pressed softly on one side of Abby’s thighs, and her crotch on the other—and then there was the matter of her ass, right there in front of Abby, barely covered by the hem of her nightshirt.

“You’re sober, right?” Abby asked, which was part genuine need to know and part stalling while she tried to figure what the hell to do.

“I solemnly swear I didn’t get drunk on the one glass of wine with dinner several hours ago. Or the cocoa. Even though I did have a lot of the cocoa. I don’t think theobromine intoxication is a thing.”

God. Erin was going to be the death of her after all, it seemed, long before any of Holtz’s explosions had a chance to do her in. “This is inappropriate—” Abby started.

“That’s my line. Don’t steal my lines. Anyway, birthday spankings are traditional, right? So what’s inappropriate about that?”

Abby coughed. All right, fine. “This is inappropriate experimental procedure,” she said, heart pounding. “Lemme Google it. I don’t want to do it wrong and have casualties, OK?”

“I think you’re stalling,” Erin sang. She kicked her feet back and forth lightly.

“Shut up,” Abby advised. If this was happening she wanted to do it right. She didn’t want to hurt Erin physically or emotionally; she also wanted them to stay friends, she didn’t want to make Erin have to reject her again, she wanted to let the past stay buried. Her heart—and other body parts—had to stay out of this.

And she had plenty of practice with that. So, it was fine, she’d just do the thing, they’d have a few laughs, Abby would go get a deck of cards, and they’d play poker till the sun came up. Just like old times.

Abby skimmed the search results for a site that looked legit. “These results are gross,” she said.

“Holtz recommends Autostraddle,” Erin said, casually.

“...right.” Abby just wasn’t going to ask what they’d been talking about. She tapped away at her phone. “Well...we’re clearly already doing this entirely wrong. No, shh, I’m reading.”

Erin tapped her fingers soundlessly on the sofa and waggled her butt back and forth. Abby tried to read faster.

“Um…it says bare skin?”

“Always follow proper protocol, right? Anyway, it’s not like you haven’t seen my butt before.” Erin made a little shrugging motion and reached back to flip the hem of her nightshirt up. “I believe I’m going to need your assistance with the next step,” Erin said, lifting her hips up.

Abby hesitated, then shook her head. She was just going to have to power through this, and tomorrow, it’d be like nothing had happened. She put her hands on Erin’s ass and pulled down her underwear. Hanes cotton, like she’d worn years ago—very much _not_ like whatever pricey Nordstrom set Erin had been wearing when she’d gotten slimed early on and had to change in their original HQ at Zhu’s. Those were probably a Phil thing, now that Abby thought about it.

Thinking about Erin’s underwear was bad, but not as bad as thinking about the fact that Abby now had a half-naked Erin stretched across her lap. She tried to focus on the article.

“OK, so, you gotta—uh—warm up first, it says, before your endorphins start—theoretically—pumping. That’ll take a few minutes, and I’ll be calibrating at the beginning,” Abby said, managing to sound pretty normal, she thought, maybe. “So let me know if you want it dialed up or down. And let me know when you’re done with the experiment. OK?”

Abby followed the article’s suggestion and placed her left hand at the base of Erin’s knobbly spine, over her tailbone, so that if Abby missed, she’d hit her own hand and not that fragile bone. This seemed straightforward enough, but it threw Abby for a second. Erin’s skin was cool under Abby’s warm palm, and the position itself gave her a strong sense of possessiveness and protectiveness. She’d always wanted to take care of Erin, to keep other kids and the world from hurting her.

“All right,” she said, more to herself than to Erin, “here we go.” Abby raised her hand and cautiously brought it down on Erin’s ass. “Oh—sorry—I…did that hurt?”

Erin made an irritated noise. “I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that was more of a pat than a spank. You’re going to have to try harder.”

Abby tried again.

“Up,” Erin said. “Dial up.”

Abby tried again, and again, and finally—

“Ow!”

Abby froze, hand still on Erin’s ass. “Shit, I’m sor—”

“No, I think that’s more like it,” Erin said thoughtfully. There was a pause in which neither of them moved. Then, decisively: “Up.”

 _Sweet monkey Jesus_. “All right.”

She intensified the force of the slaps until Erin grunted, gave her a shaky thumbs up, and made a rolling “go on” gesture. So Abby kept the intensity there, though it might have crept up a bit as she became a little hypnotized by the increasingly rosy flush and increasing temperature of the skin on Erin’s ass.

And Abby kept going. The smacking noises had made her cringe at first, but they had settled into just being a thing that was happening. Weirdly, the stressful nature of the situation faded, overcome by the rhythm of Abby’s hand on Erin’s skin, over and over.

For a while. Then, eventually, Abby realized that Erin hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even grunted or gasped, in what seemed like way too long. But Erin hadn’t said to stop, either. Was she OK? Was she bored? What (smack!) should Abby (smack!) do? (smack!)

Finally, Abby couldn’t take it anymore. She stopped, and Erin made a faint noise that Abby couldn’t possibly interpret. “Um, my hand hurts.” Which it did, now that she’d stopped. “And uh…this isn’t really doing anything for me, haha, so…”

Erin raised her head, with some apparent difficulty, and looked up at Abby. Her eyes were almost glazed over. Her bangs were stuck to her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed; even her lips seemed pinker than usual, and she was biting her lip. Abby had never seen a woman look like that before, had never seen Erin look so gorgeous.

“Oh _hell_ , I take that back,” Abby blurted. Then she clapped her hands over her face as she realized what she’d just said—what she’d just admitted to.

Erin’s eyes sharpened. She pulled herself up and then wriggled onto Abby’s lap facing her, her knees on either side of Abby’s hips. She wobbled, and Abby caught her, which meant her hands were off her face and on Erin’s ass again, clutching her.

Erin hissed and Abby froze. “It’s just sensitive,” Erin said. She licked her lips. “It doesn’t feel _bad_ , though. Abby—it’s OK, Abby, it’s fine, it’s more than fine. Abby!” She put her hands on either side of Abby’s face and Abby had to meet her eyes.

“Speechless for once, huh?” Erin’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. There was a note in her voice that Abby had never heard before. “You have to tell me something, though, Abby. I have a really important question for you. Abs—” She leaned in until their foreheads were nearly touching. “Do you still remember how to french kiss?”

And, as it turned out, Abby did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> My first Abby/Erin! It was fun to write, and I hope it was fun to read. I may write them again in the future, as part of Kinktober or not--we'll see. Comments gratefully received!
> 
> (Oddly enough, the [Autostraddle article](https://www.autostraddle.com/sex-101-spanking-435054/) referred to in the story didn't exist a couple of days ago when I started writing this fic.)


End file.
